Supersaturated

My best friend in the world, save only my husband, was a classmate of mine through all my college years. Outside our major fields, bioengineering and psychology for Nick and myself respectively, we had a lot of the same required classes. We studied together often, and our hobbies overlapped, too. We became "friends with benefits," but no more than that since at the time I was full of feminist philosophy and had no interest in setting my cap for a husband. No, I didn't meet the man who was destined to change my mind about that until after graduation, when Nick and I had gone our separate ways.

Still, Nick and I do get together every once and a while, and you'd almost say it was a, "Same Time, Next Year," sort of thing except for two differences: our spouses know about it, and there's a "no touching each other's naughty bits" rule in effect. We've never broken The Rule, though sometimes we've been tempted. And we have finessed it once or twice. This is about one of those times:

I lay face down, my body quietly absorbing scented massage oil. Nick's talented hands were spreading more of the sandalwood oil across my shoulders and down my spine and I basked in the sensual pleasure of his massage. We'd spent the day at a theme park, and it had been just wonderful. Afterwards, we'd gone back to his hotel to indulge me in the pleasures of aromatherapy and loving touch before we returned to our proper lives.

"Do you remember years ago when we went to Disneyland?" I asked. "How we dashed through Frontierland to Splash Mountain the moment they lowered the ropes?"

"I remember best sitting behind you in the boat," he replied, "my arms around your waist, hugging you to me."

"Oh, honey, today has been just perfect."

"Well, almost perfect," he opined. "You wouldn't let me take a picture of you."

It's one of our oldest disagreements; I've resisted having my picture taken as long as I've known him. Though anyone would say I'm quite pretty, I am a bit zaftig. "Ah, poor dear!" I said.

"And you promised months ago to send me a picture of your pussy," he continued.

"I promised you a picture of my cat," I corrected archly. Or as archly as a woman who's deep into a perfect massage can be.

"And I didn't even get that!"

"What can I say," I breathed, "I'm bad."

"You are bad," he agreed. "What should I do about it?"

"Spank me, I suppose." After all I was positioned perfectly for the purpose.

He gave my bottom a few little pats, then returned his hands to my back. "Somehow I don't think you look very chastised."

"I'm not, alas. I'm probably still going to be bad."

"Perhaps the punishment needs to fit the crime," he said. He gave one last lingering stroke at the base my spine, then moved his hands onwards to my left foot. He applied a little more oil to his hands and began working the tension out of the sole of my foot. I sighed feelingly: there's nothing like a good foot massage. I relaxed into it, mostly. Now the touch of his hands on my skin had been stirring my libido fairly well already, but something about what he was doing seemed to speak more directly to my naughty bits than what had gone before. As he moved slowly to my ankle, and then to my calf, and then to the back of my thighs, I was becoming more and more aroused. By the time he reached the top of my thigh, I was tempted to have him to press on into moist territory in spite of The Rule. Which explains the exasperated squeak I gave out with when he moved down to my right foot.

"You stopped too soon!" I protested.

"You know The Rule as well as I do." His thumbs worked the muscles in my foot while he said, "And besides, far be it from me to frustrate you."

"I see - this is how you make the punishment fit the crime of frustration over no pictures. But surely you'll have mercy on the repentant?"

"Oh surely ..." he said sliding this hands upwards towards my hips, "... NOT!" he said, withdrawing them to my foot once more. I moaned a bit; maybe he'd decide I'd suffered enough if I suffered more obviously. And once again his attentions seemed to be even more arousing than usual. I was panting slightly by the time his hands hovered near the top of my right thigh, so anxious was I for him to touch me intimately. But his hands slid on by to knead my shoulders as he kissed and nibbled at the back of my neck. I moaned again, his time for real rather than as a ploy. An image flashed into my mind that a direct wire had been strung from my neck to my vulva, so arousing were these kisses. I turned onto my back and reached out to tug him towards my embrace. Something about this situation was unlike any of our previous meetings, and for the first time I was ready to break The Rule. "If I can be bad, maybe you can be bad, too ... just this once."

"But you know I'm not that kind of boy!" His eyes were filled with a feigned innocence as he gently disengaged my grip and went to work the upper surface of my right leg with his hands. The resignation in my sigh which followed was purely an act. I tried to relax into what he was doing as one should with a massage, but I just couldn't. As he worked first one leg and then the other I was becoming more frantic in a way and with an intensity I couldn't explain. When he reached the upper margin of my left thigh, I murmured, "Higher."

"A promise is a promise, and we each made one," he whispered disingenuously.

My frustration was acute and I snapped out, "Let's test your resolve!" I took hold of his hand with one of mine and slipped my other hand down to my hips. "Watch me!" I commanded, and slid my fingertips between my nether lips. My fingers moved slowly at first, and then more quickly. I wanted sweet relief from my own arousal, and to turn the tables of frustration back on him. It seemed like a perfectly logical plan at the time.

He didn't try to avoid watching my little show, and certainly I was having my hoped for effect on him: his eyes were wide and I could see a stiffened outline within his shorts. The sight of that, and the general feeling of naughtiness caused by my own display, only served to increase the heat I felt within myself. In only a short time I was at the threshold of orgasm. I wanted it desperately, and I released his hand to free mine to add to my stimulation; my right hand flickering over my "sweet spot," a finger of my left hand slipping inside myself to press on swollen and sensitive places.

For a minute or two more I petted myself in just that way with only sweet anticipation on my mind, but finally I began to feel a bit of uncertainty. I should have come by now I thought, with that little part of my brain that could think in such a state. I redoubled my efforts to get across the finish line, so to speak, but I only succeeded in adding to my own frustrated desire. I was - a phrase came drifting out of chemistry classes past - "supersaturated." Like a sugar solution that was holding more sugar dissolved than was theoretically possible, waiting in an unstable state for crystals to precipitate, so my poor clitoris had absorbed more stimulation than was theoretically possible without precipitating out an orgasm. I moaned out loud in my need and glanced at my friend's face. There was the tiniest of smirks playing around the corners of his mouth.

"You're doing this to me!" I flared in sudden realization, still petting myself as frantically as ever.

"Doing what to you, sweetheart?" he asked insincerely.

"I can't come!" I wailed, "And it's your fault, isn't it!"

He came down to me as I lay there, hands busy, and cradled my head and kissed my lips and ears. The kisses served only to wind me up further. "I don't think I'm being unfair ... but maybe this is 'cruel and unusual' punishment?"

"YES!" I insisted. I left off with my hands below and instead tried to seize him. I pulled him towards me and writhed against him and tried to yank off his shorts. I knew that he'd somehow locked up my orgasm, and I guess I imagined a "key-in-the-lock" analogy. More than ever I wanted him inside me and strove with all my might to put his key in my keyhole. But he's stronger than I, and without seeming effort he slid aside all my efforts to take him by main force. He didn't even have to leave off his kissing of my neck and ears to do it. I tried to at least to wrap my legs around one of his so as to rub my vulva against his leg. I clung to him and tried to grind my breasts against him. He countered these strategies, dancing one way, then another. I whimpered and wept in the sweet torment of my need.

After several minutes I stopped these fruitless ploys. My hand slid back down to my furry lips and began to rub there again. It might seem reasonable in hindsight to have resisted touching myself pointlessly and making things worse, but in that moment not to touch myself would be to abandon all chance of coming, and that I could not bear. And thus compelled, I futilely tickled a clitoris already charged with enough sexual energy for a dozen orgasms. My whole being seemed focused on that one pink spot, its urgency controlling my hand against all common sense. My body felt tight as a bowstring and I trembled in every limb. Tears of emotion streamed down my face. I managed to put enough coherent thought together to whisper, "Please let me come ... Please!"

"Oh! You want to come? Why didn't you just say so?" He picked up his smart phone and touched the display. In that instant, all at once and completely, the interdiction ended. My eyes opened wide as I at long last felt that little internal shift that means climax is unstoppable but not here yet. Time seemed frozen for a second - just long enough for me to realize the magnitude of what was about to happen to me. Then the dozen orgasms that I had ought to have had, but hadn't, all tried to happen at once.

My body arched in sudden spasm and I gripped Nick's arm with my left hand to give me some physical anchor in the whirlwind that seized me. My right hand found new strength to keep moving and this time rewarded me with blessed, heavenly release. Pleasuring waves radiated outward from my hips, powered beyond all previous limits by the sexual tension that had built up during my unnatural incapacity. Thought was obliterated and I quivered in wonder and delight.

Eventually I was released from the spell and I relaxed, totally spent. But I roused up to a slight noise and sensation at the small of my back: it felt as if a band-aid had been removed. And it looked like a band-aid, sort of, flopping limp in my friend's hand. I decided it was some sort of adhesive stimulating electrode. He must have attached it to me during my back rub. "Did you know, dear, that arousal and release are actually very different processes, controlled by two entirely separate nerve systems? The sympathetic activates for arousal and the parasympathetic activates for orgasm. With the right stimulation you can rev up the one and put the other right to sleep."

I smiled over at him. All right, it had been a sneaky trick, but I forgave him completely. I've learned one over the years, you just can't hold a grudge for the teasing when you're at last basking in the golden glow of the release - not even when you've been supersaturated. "So will I at least get a picture of your cat?" he asked.

I gave him a naughty wink. "Who else deserves to enjoy my pussy if not you?"